


a tender heart on fire

by moonsfics



Category: Bangtan, bts, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pining, Roommates, Tender - Freeform, Tenderness, f2l, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26168629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsfics/pseuds/moonsfics
Summary: You’re working with furious determination in the darkness of the living room, just the television and your tablet providing the lighting so not to wake your roommate. You’re so focused on the drawing you have been trying to finish for the last ten hours, that you do not notice how you’ve woken Yoongi up and he has padded his way over to you.
Relationships: Min Yoongi | Suga/Reader, Min Yoongi | Suga/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	a tender heart on fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Back with another drabble from a request on tumblr and thought I would share it on here. I’ll be posting the other two requests I’ve gotten so far.   
> This request was from a prompt list: a roommates!au, friends to lover, and the quote “why are you awake so late?” 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy this soft piece.

The blue light cast by the television, which plays at a soft volume so as not to wake your roommate, does nothing for the only source of light in the living room. Not that you need it, of course, but you can just hear the voice of your mother scolding you in her mother tongue about how you shouldn’t be drawing on your iPad in the dark. 

However, you have the perfect excuse, the best argument (one that she would probably scoff at but you find it holds you up in Mother Court just fine): you have about thirty minutes to finish this, and you don’t want to wake Yoongi up. 

The furious tapping on your iPad does nothing for the actual progress of the artwork, but it works wonders for releasing the stress building up around your shoulders. And your head. 

Ten hours. Ten fucking hours, you have been working on this piece, but you just can’t seem to get it right. You’ve tried three different coloring techniques but none of them do the image on your head justice. 

Serves you right, really, for thinking that after 3 months drawing on your iPad you could finally start coloring in sketches and have them turn out perfect on the first try. 

The sketch alone took about three hours to get perfect, but now painting it seems futile when the results only ruin it. 

The night is cold, so you wrap the blanket tighter around you. The rerun episode of How I Met Your Mother is playing, and you could give zero fucks about Ted’s whiny ass but giving ‘zero’ would actually be a quantity. Still, it’s noise, and it somehow helps you focus. 

You’re so frustratingly focused however, that you don’t hear the soft padding of feet coming from the small hallway that leads to the two bedrooms. 

“Why are you awake so late?” His deep, sleepy voice makes you yelp. 

You accidentally throw your iPad on the carpet, luckily—somehow—the iPad landed face up with the cover over the screen. 

“Fuck, Yoongi, you scared the hell out of me!” You say whispering, but with enough alarm that makes him smile in that way that makes your heart skip a beat. 

His lips quirk to one side, revealing just a fraction of his teeth, and his eyes turn smaller as if smiling too. 

“Me? How about all the soft grumbling and constant exasperated sighing coming from here. I thought we had a ghost.” 

You laugh as you lean down to pick the iPad back up, then pull yourself deeper into the couch. When you look up, Yoongi is walking over to the couch after blinding you from flicking the ceiling light on.

“You shouldn’t be drawing in the dark.” 

“I know.”

He sits next to you, and with your position—one leg folded on the couch—you face him. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, and you can’t help but study him. A face you’re so familiar with, shapes and bumps so knowable that you could draw them without looking. His cheeks are a little puffy, his lips a bit swollen, and his dark hair is disheveled atop his head. He brushes a hand over it, and somehow that makes him look even more soft and comfortable.  _ Handsome _ . 

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you whisper.

Yoongi gives you a small smile and your heart might as well be the loudest thing in this room. In this building. In this city. “It’s okay… I couldn’t really sleep.”

You realize he’s still wearing the clothes he wore from his drive back from visiting his parents—lose sweats and a white tee shirt. It hugs his body more than it used to. 

Futile. Ignoring the way Yoongi’s physique has changed is futile. It’s everywhere. In the way his cheeks are fuller, his hands stronger, and body… yeah, futile. Hauling all those boxes at the bookstores have made his clothes fit different. He’s also been hanging out a lot with Jungkook at the gym, but  _ that _ you’d rather ignore before you go somewhere you shouldn’t. 

“Can’t finish the piece you've been furiously scratching at for hours?” 

His deep voice brings you back. Ignoring the way your cheeks feel (on fire), you look down at the tablet and then back at him. 

With one look from his dark eyes, the panic sets in and you’re suddenly fumbling in the blankets for the tv remote. 

“Fuck!” 

Once you find it, you pull up the main menu on the amazon tv. You can feel and hear Yoongi softly laughing. He always finds your sudden outbursts endearing for some reason. 

The tv clock reads 12:15am. 

When you look back at him, his shoulders are shaking the way they do when he laughs. His smile is so big you can see his gums, and his eyes are small but you can see how full they are with joy. 

Your stomach twists—in more ways than one. 

_ I didn’t get to finish it on time. _

Before you know it, you’re pulling yourself over to him and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He’s still laughing softly. You can feel his heart against your chest, and you can hear the way his laugh comes from his throat—a deep but somehow soft sound. 

If you had one word to describe Yoongi’s voice and laugh it would be “comfort.” 

You close your eyes and hold him tighter. He finally wraps his arms around you, just as tightly as you hold him. 

“Happy birthday, Yoongi,” you say. Your voice is muffled from being surrounded by  _ him _ , his shoulder, his neck, his scent. 

It’s rare when you allow yourself to be this affectionate with Yoongi, because when you do, his essence immediately clouds your mind and makes you lose focus. You could lay in his arms for hours, forget about deadlines and personal worries, and feel happier than you could ever remember being. 

“Thank you, sweetness.”

_ Sweetness _ . If there was a way to tattoo the way Yoongi calls you that, your heart would be in constant turmoil from trying to save you from yourself every time it played over in your head. His voice may be your comfort, but it is also your catalyst when he speaks so sweetly to you. 

Even when it is he you should be praising, he always has a way to make you feel like the only person his calming voice is for is  _ you _ . 

When you manage to pull away, after holding yourself back from breathing in the softness of his warmth, you sit back on the couch and find him still looking at you with a smile. 

“Okay,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence, “let’s see it.”

“Uh uh,” you shake your head. “It’s not finished.” You’re practically pouting.

When Yoongi releases a short laugh you feel your heart strings tugging in his direction, like a magnet trying to meet the force it's meant to connect with. 

“Come on, I know at least the sketch is finished.”

“Yoon…” you’re practically whining, but you don’t interrupt him when he brushes his hands over yours to get to the iPad. His movements are slow and gentle, and you could have sworn he pressed pressure upon your hands when making contact with them, but before you could figure it out, the iPad is in his hands and he’s unlocking it. 

“I regret giving you the passcode.”

“I’m grateful for it.” He’s smiling way too proudly.

He makes it impossible to whine when he lifts your bad moods or emotions like a blanket on a hot day—the positivity and solace hitting you like fresh air. 

It’s hard not to bite at your lips as you watch his beautiful brown eyes study the sketch. The smile is slowly falling from his lips, but it doesn’t worry you because the expression on his face remains soft. His eyes still sparkle with joy. 

You wonder what it’s like to be in his position. What it would be like to drop your gaze onto an image that someone you have no idea that cares so deeply for you has drawn of you. 

He’s looking at himself mid-laugh, wearing the outfit he picked out for the day everyone met at the museum. There was no particular celebration that day, just an exhibit Namjoon had been trying to drag everyone to for weeks. It was special to you because you hadn’t been able to find time to hang out with your friends—especially Yoongi. He stayed by your side all afternoon, making quick jokes about art pieces neither of you understood but Namjoon read like a poem. That deep, gravely voice of his constantly whispered in your ear, making you laugh with his comments. His hands often brushed against yours as you walked through the museum. If it wasn’t for your personal, idiotic fear, you would have held his hand. He wouldn’t think much of it, you’re not the first of your group of friends that he’d casually hold hands with on an outing, but you can’t imagine your heart being able to handle such friendly touches from him. Not when your heart would be yearning for a different tone from such touches. 

“This is… beautiful.” The tenderness to his voice brings you back.

It makes something inside you crack. 

“You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes are wide when he looks at you, but there is no surprise in his eyes; just that soft, joyful expression. “I can see that… that’s how you see me.” 

You’re unsure of what to do, so you remain frozen. His eyes not once break contact from yours, but you fear he still may be able to see how the rest of your body is reacting. Again, your heart is so loud, there is no way he doesn’t hear it. 

His lips move into a tender, closed lipped smile. 

The crack spreads. 

“I could never… I don’t have the talent to make your beauty justice, but if I could, I would have drawn you and showed just how I see you.”

Somehow, you find your voice, “H-how’s that?” It’s hoarse, and too soft. But he hears your words just fine. 

Yoongi smiles wider. 

“Like the most beautiful in the world.” 

“But you exist.” If you could hit yourself for these sudden outbursts you would. 

When Yoongi’s smile broadens, making his eyes close, you feel as if your heart can’t take it anymore. 

However, before you can react, you see and feel as his hand comes up to cup your cheek. His fingers, feather-like, touch your ear, and his thumb brushes softly against your skin. Then he moves his hand lower, enough to cup your jaw. 

When he starts moving towards you, a part of you wants to shy away in fear, but his eyes open to look at you and read any protest from your eyes. He doesn’t find one because this is all you want. 

When you close your eyes, that’s when you feel it. Everything cracks, and your heart is pulled forward as his lips softly embrace yours. 

You practically gasp into the kiss from the way his touch makes every inch of your body spark awake. Those feelings you kept dormant for the sake of friendship, they wake with an intensity so strong it makes your body melt, finally unfrozen. 

His lips part your own, his movements gentle and torturous as his lips take your top lip between his. When he asks to deepen the kiss, your stomach unfreezes. It doesn’t just melt, but it is set on fire. 

When you wrap your arms around him again—this time much more intimate than the last—you hear the sound that comes from his throat. Like a whine, one you won’t let him get away with just as he does to yours. 

When your fingers find his soft hair, you run them through gently. Every inch of your body is suddenly aware of every part of you that touches him. 

Your tongue does the job for your heart, and tells him just how it has been feeling. The yearning is something your heart will never let him and you forget, and it will take everything to subside the sudden fire until it feels comfort again—this time where it belongs, in his arms. 

Yoongi adds pressure to your body and you fall back, still holding him. It’s not until you’re laying with him on top of you that the kissing stops; his lips have tended to your heart as much as they can before he needs to breathe again. 

You can’t open your eyes as you catch your breath, but you feel the way his breath hits your face and his nose brushes along your cheek. 

“Happy birthday,” you manage to whisper.

Yoongi laughs softly, like the act of laughing is too much for him right this second.

His hand is still holding your face while the other squeezes your side in a soft reply. 

He kisses your cheek and it makes your eyes flutter open at such a tender touch. 

When his dark, beautifully shaped eyes meet yours, you can’t help but smile. 

“I was right.”

“Hu?” 

You’re still trying to catch your breath, but the adoring look on his face knocks it out again. 

“You do taste sweet.”

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks as you scoff and look down at his shoulder, but Yoongi coos softly at you. His shoulders shake in laughter again, but he kisses your jaw, then your nose, and then your cheeks. 

This time, you pull him in for another kiss. Your heart can’t take it any longer and wants more reparations. 

You feel him smile into the kiss, but before he can tease you further, you hold him tighter. Your heart calls out to his, and his calls back. 


End file.
